You should – it’s hysterical. Hold on there a minute. I’ll go off and do a bit of googling.

Dum dee dum dee dum dee da de da dee dee dum

Right. I’m back, and I got a few pictures to show you what we’re talking about. You see, what I can’t get over is the money they charge for this stuff. Here’s a thing, now, for example:

It’s a cross, for getting yourself crucified. Have a close look at this thing. It consists of three boards that would set you back maybe 15 euros. How much do you think they charge for this item? Would you believe that some fuckin eejit is going to hand over 425 dollars for this? About 300 euros? And then he’s going to get himself tied to the fuckin thing and get his arse lashed by some mad old bitch with one eye closed from cigarette smoke and a flat gin-and-tonic in the other hand.

OK. You can see where this is going. Next!

What do you make of this? It’s a saw-horse, and it’s yours for only 385 dollars. What a great idea. When you’re not getting your knob crushed with a garlic press, you can use it to knock a few shelves together.

Let’s move on.

What about this? I like this.

A handy massage table that doubles as a secure cage for your pet Rhodesian Ridgeback. It’s really a very clever design, because you can be getting massaged with a lump hammer while the Ridgeback is chewing the bollocks off you at the same time. Only 750 dollars.
You’ll probably want some of these as well, to go with your massage table, and at only 35 dollars they’re well worth it.

Have a look at this fuckin eejit. This could be you. And if you’re really lucky, you could also be wearing THIS! I’ll leave it up to you to figure out what it does, but it costs a derisory 90 dollars.

But if you thought that was bad, how about this gobshite?

Here’s a fucking fool who voluntarily allowed his knob to get trapped in an adjustable torture machine. What a prick! And do you know how much he paid for the pleasure of getting his member mashed? 450 dollars.

Let’s not knock it, though. I’m working on a plan that’s going to make us all rich. You see, with the new property market, houses are incredibly expensive, and also incredibly small. Your average suburban semi-dweller can’t afford a fully-fitted dungeon, much though they might want it. So I have my staff at the Bockschloss working on a range of convertible furniture. By day, you can feed the kids on the kitchen table, serve the dinner, do a crossword, all that normal stuff. But by night, with one flick of a lever, your kitchen table converts into a rack with extra ball-crushing features and electrodes. Another flick of a lever, and your kitchen cupboards swivel backwards, turning into cold and slimy granite dungeon walls. With chains. And skeletons!

I’m going to call my new company Dungeonisation and all our vans will have prominent logos. We won’t actually do any work ourselves. We’ll just park outside your house until you pay us enough to make us go away.

I can see it now on About the House. Here comes Duncan with his wild staring eyes and his clenched fists.

Oh hello there, Declan and Nuala.

Ah, Duncan, is it yourself, you mad fucker? Here, climb into this cage till we pour boilin’ tea all over ya!

After much consideration about how we can distribute these great products around the country, we at the Bockschloss decided that it would be better to use an agent. We asked for tenders, and finally we’ve decided.

Bock, you couldn’t insult Duncan by pouring boiling tea over him. Who the fuck drinks boiling tea? You make tea with water gone off the boil, any Nuala will tell you that. No, if Duncan was coming to town, it would be decaff grown in sustainable forests manured with dung from organic cows born from bull-ridden maiden heifers, plucked and ground by paraplegic dyslexic undocumented african-american lesbians with attention deficit disorders and a few sexually transmitted diseases, and that’s before we even consider sugar. Boiling Tea? No way, Nuala!